After some hours of sleep I woke up. Pictures in my head. I tried to convince myself it wasn't real, that wasn't me who experienced that. I was there, but I was just watching. Watching my body get raped, but my soul already died.

In May of this year I was raped. I always thought it was not possible for me to be raped. Not because I was strong, but because my boyfriend, Allan (*All names in this story have been changed), was always

Know this happened at the Pennsylvania State University, at the frat DKE. I was 18 years old. —————————————————————————————————————————————————— Nail biting. A nasty nervous habit I have had since I can remember. I guess you could say I am a nervous

I went through the worst experience of my life and it took many, many things from me. It took my happiness for over a year, I lost my salaried job, I lost my apartment, I wasn't able to attend classes regularly, I didn't want to leave bed… everything reminded me of what happened and I feared running into him or his friends.

The one thing that you will find in this process is your voice. It is quite possibly the only thing that you have left after you have been torn apart from everything else. Do not be silenced. Not for you, but for other victims who are looking to you for some reason to keep going.

I began self harming at the age of 15 and lost a lot of weight. He began to see me less and eventually it just never happened again. I never told a single person until a couple of years ago and a friend persuaded me to go to the police.

I shouldn't have let a guy buy me drinks. I shouldn't have agreed to a hug. I shouldn't have let that happen. Why did I laugh? Why didn't I leave. Why didn't I tell anyone? Why can't I sleep? Why me? I wasn't alone and I stayed with my friends. Everyone just acted like this was okay.

I don’t want to have to tell people and feel their judging eyes stare at me while I talk, and I feel guilty that I wasn’t held at gun point against my will. I feel like I could have stopped it at any time and I didn’t so that makes me just as wrong. I know thats not true I really do and if someone else told me their story and it matched mine word for word I would tell them over and over it wasn't their fault and that should have never happened to you, you have no reason to feel ashamed and I would truly believe it.

Every time I was running/or pushing him away, we were facing his anger. It was everyday story. I remember sitting in the corner of my cousin's room, scared, closed eyes, covering my ears while he was screaming my name outside. To calm him down, my grandparents and his wife makes me sit next to him in living room. Where he was touching my thighs, trying to kiss me, rotating my face to look at him. I can't forget his scary face and laugh. No one was stopping him, he was coming to my room every other night.

I am the third generation of childhood sexual abuse in my family. Three generations of girls who were treated like their purpose was to please men who held power over them. I was the first to tell and be believed.

If this becomes long, sorry! So April/May 2016, thanks to a newspaper article I get back in touch with an old friend. He asks me if I’m happy in the relationship I am currently in with my partner, I admit

Its just really hard and I can't belive I'm actually writing about it. Every time after it happened I would feel ashamed I hated myself for what I was forced to so and could never look at myself the same way. I lost all my innocence.

For a whole year thereafter, I beat myself up over my stupidity for allowing our relationship to escalate that night in New York. The depression and anxiety from that experience followed me around like a dark shadow. Eventually, I began to realize that I had done nothing wrong. I didn't mislead him; he didn't care about what I was saying or doing. I didn't allow it; I felt threatened having a man nearly twice my body weight on top of me. Most importantly, I never consented.

I have a lot of problems, trust is the biggest one, I am always scared of being hurt again, but I am slowly working my way back to the person I used to be, the one who was stolen and locked away but is slowly reemerging, I will make it.

At that moment in time I didn't even care about what had just happened to me because I was just so focused on trying to help my friend, trying all I could to wake her up but I couldn't move. It was like I was in a room full of people and I was screaming but no one could hear me.

I have been manipulated, lied too and I was lonely. I was expressing my feelings all over social media, hoping they would realise what they have done. Instead he made himself the victum in the situation…and this was only the

When people talk about rape, they often think rape steals your innocence. For me, rape and sexual abuse atole everything! It stole my entire childhood. It stole my friends and my family. It stole my dreams. It ultimately made me drop out of school. Ive destroyed my body and have scars all over both thighs and from my wrist to my forearm on one arm.

I recently spoke at a high school graduation and for the first time went public about my experience with Childhood Sexual Abuse & domestic violence. Imagine being 7 years old, walking into your bedroom after taking your nightly bath, and

Nobody really knows my whole, true story. I don’t like to talk about it; however, I think people need to quit assuming they know everything and gossiping, slut shaming me, and making it seem as though I was never a

Please follow the link to view Ana’s video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyo9eyXTir8 A Message from Ana: If you are being abused or have been abused, please seek help. Never give up hope. I love you and you matter. RAINN.ORG is a good source

The emotions I felt were so great I had no idea how to digest them. I had just been raped but I don’t remember any of it. What the fuck !?!? My sister was about an hour and a bit away on the train, my friends were scattered across London and my mum and dad were living in Spain. For the first time in my adult life I felt well and truly alone.

The commonalities I have with the other brave women who have come forward are what made me realize how wrong it all was. Reading the stories was like having my mind read. I sunk deeper with feelings of guilt and disgust. I was part of an intricate web woven by a man who was manipulative and powerful. I fell for every carefully constructed, tried and true line he fed me. He played his game with me as he played it with so many women before me. I was another woman to add to his collection.

I spent eight hours in the hospital getting evidence documented, there was an 18-month "investigation", and no charges were ever laid. I was told that because I willingly went to my attacker’s apartment, it would be too hard to prove beyond a reasonable doubt.

This is my story –of a 13-year-old victim who reported to the police in 1956. Ancient history? Perhaps, but it may give some insight into why victims don't report and the surreal experience of doing so. That said, I firmly believe that victims should speak out and identify themselves. It is not their shame! Not publishing names "in order to protect the victim" implies that somehow it is the victim's shame. Rapists are the ones who deserve to be identified and shamed.

The When You're Ready Project is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories and have their voices heard, finding strength in one another. When you're ready to share your story, we will be here.